Blood in the Ice
by Frostfyre
Summary: Wrath of the Lich King. Heroes and villains were born in the snows of Northrend. Zoen Mith isn't sure which category she fits in yet.
1. Chapter 1

**_And here... we... _go_._**

**_-_ _The Joker_  
**

"Are you gonna eat that?"

Looking to her left, Zoen Mith raised an eyebrow at the raggedy dressed child who stood next to where she sat. His eyes shifted between her and the heel of bread she held; his hand was outstretched, as though he knew the answer to his own question.

Sighing, Zoen tore the bread roughly in half and held out the larger piece for the boy. He happily took it before moving to sit next to her, his legs dangling over the edge of the tier as they both munched on their food and started out at the new Stormwind docks. At one point Zoen tore her bread again, giving a piece of it to the massive black wolf that lay at her side. His yellow eyes opened and he reached forward, snapping it up quickly before settling down again. The boy made a soft ahmm sound, drawing Zoen's attention. "Dogs eat meat," he stated smugly.

"Dogs eat whatever you put in front of them, edible or not." Leaning forward, Zoen watched as another merchant ship docked. Pushing a few errant strands of blonde hair behind her ear, she said, "I'm guessing you're here for a better reason than my supper."

The boy nodded. "Sparks said you're runnin' away." He smacked his jaws, and from the corner of her eye Zoen thought she saw a glob of chewed bread before he swallowed. She grimaced.

"Sparks is a warlock, and therefore crazy. Can't always believe what she says." There was silence, foiled only by the distant shouting of dock workers and gulls' cries. At the very edge of the horizon, Zoen thought she could see a ship, though she couldn't tell if it was coming or going. Considering the time, probably coming.

"Doesn't mean she's a liar," retorted the boy.

She turned to him, glaring half-heartedly. She realized, suddenly, that she had no idea what is name was or even who he was, besides the fact that his mother had once yelled at her for putting an arrow through her window. Feeling the need to defend herself against her nearly-anonymous accuser, Zoen elaborated, "I'm just going with some Argent Dawn paladins to check out this old Lordaeron ruin. I'll be back in a few weeks."

"That sounds like running away."

The bread still in Zoen's mouth turned to glue, clogging her throat; struggling to swallow, her voice cracked as she said, "You're a little kid - what do you know?"

The boy stood then, leaving Zoen to inhale the salty sea air and watch as the sun slowly sank before she too left, the black wolf padding alongside her.

It didn't take long before she found herself weaving through the maze of back alleys and rundown streets of Old Town, following a path she'd memorized better than the back of her hand. A turn here, a twist there, a careful avoidance of the abandoned building known to house Cultists of the Damned, and she was standing before a dilapidated apartment complex. Kicking her way through the rusty door, she climbed the stairs, reaching a scratched-up door marked with the number twenty-one before shoving a key in it, twisting the lock and knob before holding the door open for the wolf to enter first, murmuring, "After you, your majesty." She herself managed three steps in before having to duck, a knife embedded in the wall behind her. Cheerfully, she greeted, "Hey, Sparks. Get a new haircut?"

"What the _hell_ d'you think you're doing, signing up for some hairbrained trip through Scourge territory?" seethed a woman in purple robes. She was brunette and somewhere in her late forties, though age had robbed her of none of her ferocity. It helped than she was more than capable at summoning and enslaving a Terrorguard at a moment's whim, too.

Having developed a healthy fear of said Terrorguard, Zoen smiled brightly, trying her best to console the unhappy warlock. "I'll be with paladins. If they start dying, I'll just run." Hopefully, her flippancy would calm the warlock, convince her that this was not as dire as she thought.

It didn't.

Flames engulfed one of Sparks' hands and Zoen squeaked in fear, jumping behind a rickety chair and clutching at her wolf's fur tightly. "Don't kill me!"

"Do you honestly think I'm going to let you do this?" Sparks demanded.

"No! It's kind of why I didn't run it by you beforehand! By the way, how _did_ you find out?" Zoen looked up from her defensive barrier, diving back down a moment later.

Sparks hissed. "An Argent Dawn paladin came to the door, leaving a letter for a Miss Zoen Mith, telling me how_ proud_ I should be of my daughter, how _brave_ she was, how she volunteered to help _scour a Lordaeron ruin free of the Undead Scourge_!"

"Well there's your problem. I'm not your daughter."

"To _hell_, you're not my daughter!" screamed Sparks, the fire in her hands flaring red-hot. The wolf whined and Zoen scrambled away, her back hitting a wall as Sparks stalked closer. "I raised you, fed and clothed and housed you for seventeen years, and you have the gall to say you're_ not_ my daughter?! You're a damn sight more mine than Jaina's or Arth-" She stopped short, the fire puttering out into swallowed, releasing a breath she hasn't known she'd been holding.

"That's it, isn't it?" asked Sparks softly. "You just think the more Scourge toy kill, the less like him you'll be, right?"

Zoen considered lying, wondering if it'd end the conversation quicker than the truth. Her dislike of lying outright to Sparks surfaced, however, and she found herself admitting, "Honestly, I just want to be a hero. Really, any sort of fame'd work for me."

Sparks' face darkened. "You're lying. It has to be more than that."

A laugh bubbled its way out of Zoen,a little hysteric and a lot amused. "Light's honest truth. Everyone wants to be famous, right? I just have a little more incentive. This way, if anyone ever figures, 'Wait, Zoen Mith's actually Zoen Menethil' his friend can say, 'Who cares, she's a demon-slaying, Scourge-killing hero who rescues cats from trees.' Thus, my chances at getting killed by stupid apple-doesn't-fall-far-from-the-tree people drastically lower."

The warlock threw up her (thankfully, flameless) hands, and Zoen carefully grasped her makeshift shield before hauling herself up. "I just want an adventure," she said simply. "Just a little fun. They're paladins, champions of the Light, all that warm, fuzzy stuff. They'll keep me safe. One of them said the ruins were mostly abandoned anyways, he'd been there himself before."

"Then why do they need you?" There was a sliver of desperation in Sparks' voice, one that made Zoen pause. When next the hunter spoke, her words were much softer and slower, meant to soothe more than placate.

"They needed an archer. I'll be at the very back, the closest to the exit. If anything goes wrong, I can just bolt. I promise." Sparks sunk down into a nearby chair, picking at the torn armrest cushions idly. Tentatively, Zoen padded her way across to stand not too far away from the warlock, twisting her hands nervously before her. Suddenly, she begged, "Please, Sparky. Please. I - after that year, and that Light-forsaken cell, I just -" She stopped, sighed, ran a hand through her hair. "A break," she tried again. "Time away. You know?"

Sparks bit her lip, resting her head in her hands. "I can't say yes," the warlock sighed. "Don't ask me to say yes."

Zoen didn't. She gestured for the wolf to follow her, murmuring, "C'mon, Tiris." They walked quietly away into a tiny room furnished by a creaky bed and a wooden box of random paraphernalia. Carefully, Zoen checked on her bow from where she'd stashed it for the day before nodding, satisfied that it was still in pristine shape. Tiris leaped onto the bed, settling on the side nearest the windowless pane Zoen had pushed her bed against, vigilant even as he fell asleep. She smiled at him before readying herself for bed. The sun had fallen not too long ago, and Old Town was dangerous at night; unless one wanted to get pulled into a dark alley and shanked for their shoes, there was nothing to do.

Flopping down besides the wolf, Zoen idly ran her fingers through his coarse fur, watching out the window. She watched as two robed humans stole quickly further down the street towards the abandoned building, a limp night elf being between them, her feet dragging even as they tried to provide even the slightest facsimile of her being conscious. Zoen shook her head, turned from the window, and closed her eyes. Sleep came easily enough afterwards.

* * *

_She still had nightmares about it._

_They're usually just flashes of fire, red splotches in the darkness and murmured voices of inquisitors, too low for her to understand. Metal glints threateningly off to the side, patiently waiting for a chance to tear at her. Sometimes, she can hear screams and pleads close by, an auditory hell that just keeps going in a loop and she wants to claw at her ears because Light, it _hurts_ hearing those screams. Sometimes, the metal is raised, the glinting blade brought down on her, and sometimes she can make out the form of one of the inquisitors in the firelight. Sometimes, she almost sees a face, stained red and snarling like an animal._

_Sometimes, she remembers it's just a dream._

_But that is not tonight. Tonight is haunted by ghosts tearing at her flesh and moaning in agony in her ears. Zombies clamp their jaws on her limbs, shaking their heads like hounds and ripping her to pieces. Lordaeron burns around her while rose petals fall from the sky. Shadowmen stalk her in the dark, hissing and terrorizing her and laughing at her fear. Ruins collapse on top of her, burying her alive and swallowing her screams, hiding her from help. Light explodes and paladins scream, and her bow snaps as Tiris howls in his death throes -_

She woke up quickly, yelping when she accidentally bit her tongue. Zoen propped herself up over Tiris and spat bloody saliva out of the windowless pane, doing it again when her mouth was filled again with the metallic tang of blood. She grimaced and scratched behind her wolf's ears.

"This'll be fun," she told herself. "Explore some ruins, maybe kill a skeleton or two, make some pals in the Argent Dawn... This is good. This will be very good."

She stayed like that for the rest of the night, watching the stars and the moons and convincing herself she'd done the right thing.

Come sunrise, she almost believed herself.

* * *

**A/N: **A few things need to be made absolutely clear.

1. This is _not _a Mary-Sue story. Yes, I know that no Suethor thinks they're a Suethor, but I swear to God this won't be. There'll be no kill-steals from Tirion, no Arthas redemption due to his "totalie perfct dahtr", no weird Npc/Oc action going on, no super-uber epicness of annoying proportions going on, and so on. Zoen is going to make _major _mistakes in this story, and each and every one of them is going to come back and bite her in the ass.

2. Reviews are ex_tremely_ important to this story's health and length. I will for the first time attempt to reply to each and every one of them. Constructive criticism will eternally be well-received.

3. While the ending is definite, the journey there is not. All suggestions, be they a line a particular character says or a whole arc, will be seriously considered.

4. I sincerely hope you enjoy this.

- Frostfyre


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **And so the story continues! That's good, right? Anyways, thanks to the ever-talented and always-funny Buglet (seriously, check out his stuff, _Azeroth's Finest _may be the most hilarious fic I've ever read), this is out and about. Not as long as I thought it'd be, but a lot longer than I feared it wouldn't be. Anyways, on with the show!

_**I'm going on an adventure!**_

_**- Bilbo Baggins**_

Pale streaks of dawn slowly spidered along the sky, shoots of golden pink splintering the dark blue. A cool breeze wafted through a broken window, and Zoen inhaled deeply, the tang of salt stinging her nostrils. Tiris whined in his sleep next to her, wriggling and kicking out his feet. Zoen watched him for a moment before yawning, her eyes beginning to close. Sleep had barely come last night… Maybe she could snatch a few moments' rest before -

An earsplitting crash from just outside the room startled both human and wolf completely awake, the former swearing loudly as the latter barked and growled madly. A flash of orange light burned on the other side for a moment, followed by a breath of silence that lasted the span of a heartbeat before the voice of Sparks yelled, "Damn it, Belkol, are you _trying_ to get yourself banished?!"

A high-pitched snarl of Eredun replied and the argument quickly deteriorated into a shouting match in the demonic tongue. Zoen shut her eyes again, falling back down and grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes. Bursts of color exploded behind her eyelids, and for a moment she almost forgot the fight going on behind her rotting door. Almost.

Eventually, she forced herself to roll out of bed, dropping to the cold floor to drag out ragged pieces of black leather from beneath the bed, strapping on the armor as the voices grew increasingly louder. She winced, a headache beginning to throb in the back of her head and around her ears as she laced up her boots. Two yellow lanterns watched her from above, blinking occasionally and growling at the door when something thumped against a wall. When she pulled on her long coat, a deep, demonic voice boomed imperiously before morphing mid-sentence into a far less impressive (but no less dangerous) woman's furious shouting.

Zoen had just began hunting around when Tiris tensed, his ears pricked as he whined. Idly, Zoen said, "They're burning down the apartment again, aren't they?" She grinned, finding an old, faded receipt and a bent quill. Just as she found a cracked inkwell she added, "And she wonders why I want to leave."

The hunter scratched a note on the back of the receipt, careful not to tear the thin paper. She stuck the note under a bedpost before retrieving her bow and quiver. She frowned. There were far fewer arrows left than she was comfortable with.

Another shout came from outside and Zoen sighed, slinging her quiver over her shoulder and gripping her bow tightly as she stood up. She motioned to Tiris before turning the doorknob, shoving the door open to be welcomed into anarchy.

Fresh scorch marks littered the walls, ceiling, and floor, and the ratty couch was slowly smouldering, bright embers threatening to catch flame. The stench of smoke and burnt coffee of all things permeated the air along with a thick, repugnant malodor Zoen had learned to associated with fel magic. Off to the side lay a smashed soul shard, its crystalline features dulled to a dark purple. Wooden shards and white fluff littered the floors, some black and smoking leisurely. Amongst the wreckage, heedless of the destruction they had wrought, stood a warlock and a fel imp, locked in mutual death glares. Their silence lasted only a moment before the warlock grated out in an uncharacteristically hoarse voice a string of guttural words in the demonic language. The imp responded in kind, high-pitched and indignant. The hunter noticed a shattered mug that lay near the warlock's side, a brown liquid staining the ceramic and the wood beneath.

For a moment, Zoen hesitated. She could leave, right then and there, slip out with Tiris and Sparks would never know.

_And yet…_

Maybe it was her subconscious indulging in a moment of pure masochism, maybe it was some lingering sense of debt; whatever the cause, the words poured from Zoen's mouth of their own accord, bright and cheery and false and sending guilt down to twist her stomach into intricate knots. "Good _morning_, Sparks, Belkol."

Sparks' hand twitched. Belkol bared his fangs at his mistress. A breeze came through a crack in a window, stirring bits of fluff close to not-quite-dead embers. Zoen swallowed. So, ah… Did I miss anything?"

Sparks' haw creaked as she ground out in Common, "Nothing important."

"Boss lady's right," added the imp venomously. "Just having a little disagreement."

"Yes." Tiny flames flickered to life on the tips of Sparks' fingers. "A disagreement."

The hunter shook her head at the two of them. "Yeah, sure. Just don't burn down another apartment." She made for the door, finally arresting her guardian's attention.

"Where are you going?" It was said sharply and caustically, suspicion heavy and naked. The words struck Zoen, driving the breath from her lungs. _She doesn't trust me._

_But can you blame her?_

"Just - just to the forest," she managed to choke out, the lie catching in her throat and pulling the knots in her stomach tighter. "Just hunting. We're… we're almost broke." She swallowed, trying to speak around the obstruction lodged in her windpipe. "I'll be back soon."

_Please don't ask me to stay,_ she thought desperately. _I'll suffocate here. Please don't ask me to stay._

Sparks was silent; Zoen couldn't breathe.

There were no words from the warlock. No wrathful condemnation, no wise advice, no encouragement to bolster the hunter's resolve. Instead, Sparks merely turned away, resuming her argument with the imp. Zoen bit the inside of her cheek, feeling her heart crack. She fled the dingy, wrecked apartment, slamming the door behind Tiris.

She jumped at the sight of a withered old woman glaring at her. Startled, Zoen opened her mouth soundlessly. She didn't know this maybe-tennant.

"Tell your mother to quiet down," the crone reprimanded, showing off broken, mossy teeth.

Zoen swallowed back the tightness in her throat and the blurs at her peripheral and wheezed, "She's not my mother."

_Who's Mother?_

"Do your parents know you're here?" A quick, icy fear raced through Zoen's blood. Her grip on her bow tightened as she searched for some telltale sign - unusual paleness, or maybe a tattoo - and saw none.

"I really hope not," she admitted, the honesty even more poisonous than her lies. She shoved past the crone and ignored the choleric calls. She flew down the stairsteps while Tiris loped ahead until they both burst from the apartment complex. Zoen gasped for air, drawing in massive lungfuls as she stared up at the sky. The sun had risen higher since last she saw it. The golden pink was a little bit brighter, the night sky just a little bit more faded. For a fleeting moment, Zoen wondered what the sunrise looked like from the docks before the image twisted into last night's sunset and the little boy whose name she didn't know, and the knots in her stomach tightened to the point that she thought she might throw up. Shivering, she jammed her free hand into a coat pocket and began the trek to the Cathedral District.

It was not a particularly long walk to escape Old Town, and the yellowy arms of dawn staved off the deafeningly quiet darkness that often plagued the streets. The Canals were empty save for the fish and crabs who scuttled around in the trashy muck at the bottom of the canal beds; once, Zoen thought she caught a glimpse of the sewer beast of legend, but it was nothing more than a dirty, yellow-white shirt tangled below. Candlelight illuminated homes behind closed curtains, silhouettes moving about their abodes. Stormwind was slowly awakening.

Crossing a bridge, Zoen reached up, plucking an apple from one of the trees lining the edge of a canal. She munched on her impromptu breakfast as she turned a corner, crossing through the archway to enter the Cathedral District. The pristine streets already had more than a few paladins striding their lengths, priests going about their morning routines while initiates to both holy orders scurried about in search of whatever obscure article their masters ordered brought to them. As was her habit, Zoen peeked into an alleyway. No shadows lurked with glinting eyes, no red-stained victims of rigor mortis forgotten 'til the cultists came across them. She felt homesick already.

Waiting for a specific paladin in a sea of paladins was arduously tedious; actively seeking out a specific paladin was too herculean a task for her. Mith moved to a stone bench beneath another apple tree, grabbing another apple and throwing the core of her old one behind her shoulder. Tiris curled up at the bench's edge and Zoen folded her legs underneath her, leaned against the front of the bench, and stroked the wolf's fur. A chilly breeze rustled the tree's leaves; Zoen shivered, pulling her coat tighter against herself. "_Why_ is it so cold?" she muttered bitterly.

"Air currents." Her head snapped up to see a boy not much older than her standing before her. He grinned, shaking his head as a few inky black strands of hair fell into his eyes. The paladin's armor he wore gleamed faintly in the sunlight.

"Air currents," echoed Zoen as she got to her feet. She nudged Tiris, and the quiet growling that'd been rumbling from his chest ceased.

"From Northrend," he added. "Just one more thing that lovely land of undead horrors and frozen death gives to the rest of the world. Isn't that sweet?"

"Absolutely." His grin got a little wider, and a ghost of a smile played on Zoen's lips.

"My manners!" exclaimed the paladin. "I seem to have forgotten. Salric Volta," with more than a little dramatic flair, he bowed low, "paladin of the Knights of the Silver Hand. Or the Argent Dawn." Conspiratorially, he whispered, "I have no idea what the difference is."

Zoen breathed a quiet laugh, admitting, "Neither do I." A moment of companionable silence followed before she asked, "So, are you the paladin who recruited me? Because you're a lot shorter than you were before."

He was confused for a moment before it cleared away. "You're the archer, aren't you? The one Markus said he was gonna get? Huh." He rocked back on his heels before leaning forward a bit. "You're not quite what I expected. You're a lot less..." He twirled his hand in the air as he searched for a term before settling with, "night elf-y."

"Night elves get paid more than I am." She threw her apple over his shoulder, smiling when Tiris raced after it. A pang of guilt went through her when she remembered she'd yet to feed him today.

_Is that really what you feel most guilty about?_ In her defense, she really liked her dog.

If Salric noticed her sudden melancholy, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the paladin reached up to get his own apple. He took a few minutes to chew on it, during which time Tiris returned to Zoen's side. The sun rose higher; Zoen could just hear the sounds of the Trade District as it revved up into full swing, the calls of vendors and adventurers and the occasional roar from some large creature echoing through the city. More exotic passersby than priests and paladins wandered through the Cathedral District: shaman and druids and magi and even a warlock (_don't think about her_) or two. Eventually, both Salric and Zoen sat on the bench side by side, Tiris at their feet. As time went on, the duo resorted to games of intense wit to keep themselves alert.

"I spy... something... white."

"If it's that bloody stone one more time..."

"That stone is a proud member of the masonry of Stormwind! Show it the respect it deserves!... And your turn."

Zoen rolled her eyes before she began searching for something new. Something caught her eye, and she quickly shut them, groaning, "I spy something golden."

Salric snorted. "Let me guess, a paladin?"

"Yep." She pointed in the general direction of where she'd looked. Salric's silence was a tangible thing.

She knew what he saw: three paladins bathed in the late morning sunlight, their armor gleaming like polished gold. She could hear the three sets of boots tread their way towards her and Salric, could half-imagine the Light singing its praise of these holy champions as they neared the apple tree. Even Salric appeared to glow more, to brighten as his brethren neared him. Light built upon Light, it seemed.

He stood, and Zoen followed suit. "Salric," rumbled the largest paladin, a hulking behemoth whose size along would have been intimidating even without the massive greatsword strapped to his back. "I see you've found our archer." Slate gray eyes slid over to Zoen, and the paladin tilted his head at her. "I am Markus Tarren, in case you have forgotten."

How could she have forgotten this giant? Still, she ducked her head, saying, "Ah, Zoen Mith. The... hunter you recruited." Words alone could not convey how relieved she was at how steady her voice was.

"Hello!" A head popped behind the giant, grinning brightly beneath a mop of blonde hair. "Felix Solas, it's utterly _fantastic _to meet you -" He looked up, saw Salric, and his grin widened. "'Ello, Sal. Great to see you, too."

"Solas. Chipper as ever." Exasperated fondness colored Salric's tone. Felix smiled even brighter.

There was a movement behind Markus; Zoen leaned to the side, curious -

"The archer?"

She jumped back, almost tripping over the bench, only saving herself by putting one hand behind her on the tree trunk and knot the other in Tiris' fur (to the wolf's irritation). A paladin_, _around Markus' age but smaller, stared wide-eyed at her. He smiled quickly, though, saying, "Ah, Blaine Arnol, my good lady. A pleasure to meet you." She noticed belatedly that his armor was far lighter than that of his brethren; where the others wore plate, he wore mostly chain and cloth.

"You as well -" Tiris growled, and she subtly jabbed him to keep him quiet - "Sir Arnol, Tarren, Solas, and Volta." They were all looking at her, and _Light, _it was uncomfortable. "T-thanks for letting- recruiting me, for this -" _Stop stumbling, Mith - _"foray." Her bow creaked ominously, and she loosened the death grip she'd unconsciously made. "It's an honor to be service to the Dawn." _Or Silver Hand,_ reminded that wretched little voice in her head.

Blaine Arnol smiled again, and there was nothing but sincerity as he said, "It would be remiss to not have a fifth member of this expedition, Miss Mith."

"It'll be great!" promised Felix. "A perfect adventure, eh?" He smiled, and the Light seemed to shine brighter as he did.

_A perfect adventure._

* * *

**A/N: **A thing on names:

_Felix Soras - _Literally, the Latin word for _happy _and the Irish word for _light_. Happy Light. (I can see you, _Death_ Note and _Kingdom Hearts_fandoms.) While Salric's first name is a shout-out to my buddy, Darkchubb, his last name is the Italian word for _light_. And Blaine Arnol... Well. You'll see.

Chapter three will hopefully come out before a month has passed. Also, to answer some questions, _yes_, I am the original author of the now-deleted story _Lich Child_. So... yeah. There's that.

Good day, lovely readers! Review (it is literally the lifeblood that keeps me writing) and have fun.

Frostfyre.


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